


Rattle the Stars

by plushichu



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Eventual Smut, M/M, Tags Are Hard, Treasure Planet AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-10-12 02:00:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17458469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plushichu/pseuds/plushichu
Summary: He might actually start crying from the sheer beauty of it. But not really; scrappers don’t cry, especially not in public.





	1. Scavenger

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my very first fanfic!
> 
> This is more of a Treasure Planet-based AU where it will follow the general story line of the movie, but also very much be its own thing. The POV will also change each chapter between Junkrat and Roadhog. I hope you enjoy!!!

The life of a scrapper isn’t an easy one, and far from glamorous. Like the name would imply, scrappers take what they deem worthy of salvaging from anything and everything; from cars to ships to household appliances, there aren’t many things they couldn’t take something from. Some were in it just to make a profit, turning around and selling their scrap to whoever’d buy it, but for others it was all they could access due to extreme poverty.

Jamison Fawkes is somewhere in the middle. 

He was born impoverished, born a scrapper, it was all he’d known as a child. He isn’t very strong, but what he lacks in physical strength, he makes up for in intelligence three times over. If it weren’t for the fact most scrappers think he’s absolutely bonkers, he might be considered one of the smartest scrappers there’d ever been. But god help him, he doesn’t have common sense for shit. Jamison's love for explosions and wanton destruction is far from uncommon for a scrapper, but he always takes it much further than everyone else. He lives and breathes destruction. He plays with bombs like kids play with toys; it’s how he lost his right leg, as a matter of fact. It was enough to put off most other scrappers, but not so much that they didn’t go to him directly when they needed some bombs or somebody stupid enough to blow something up for them.

Jamison would take his scrap and make anything from it - explosives, weapons, and even prosthetics then sell, sell, sell. Didn’t really matter to who. At one point he’d provided weapons to two gangs fighting over turf or something or other; he didn’t remember the finer details, just that in the end he’d had the last laugh as he lined his pockets with their money and they all killed each other.

Today is shaping up to be just like any other scrapping day for Jamison; it’s been long, it’s been exhausting, but he’s at least finding bits and bobs he can use. The local scrapyard stretches on for miles and miles, in no short thanks to the government always dumping its shit and letting foreign powers dump their shit in and around the scrappers’ land. There’s enough space for scrappers to give each other a wide berth more often than not if not outright avoid seeing each other for the most part, although Jamison would see the odd scrapper here and there as he went about his business. Stayed as far away as possible each time and they did the same. The life of a scrapper is also a fairly solitary one, and one wrong move towards an unfamiliar scrapper could get you killed with no questions asked. So Jamison kept to himself, naturally. And brought his trusty frag launcher and a handful of grenades, which he kept in the battered old messenger bag slung around his bare chest and shoulder, just to be safe.

He hobbled along, his gait awkward due to the mechanical peg leg that served as his right leg, eyes quickly scanning the tall piles of junk that surrounded him. As he rounded a corner, Jamison stopped dead in his tracks when he caught sight of a busted ship lying several feet away from him. It balanced on a large pile of junk, lying almost completely on its right side, the bow hovering only a few feet from the ground, threatening to fall forward at any moment. Jamison was in awe of the thing. It was large enough for a small crew, maybe ten or fifteen people at most, and its sleek design suggested it was built for speed. In its glory days it was probably a sight to see, especially with its white and orange-gold paint, but at present it was beat to shit with several dents along the side facing up and superficial chunks of metal were missing from the outer layer. It still had three of its five white sails, but they were torn to shreds. A real fall from grace. But more importantly, it looked like a newer addition to the scrapyard considering how otherwise intact it looked. 

Jamison's mouth watered. So rare was it for him to find an untouched or mostly untouched piece in the scrapyard. He might actually start crying from the sheer beauty of it. But not really; scrappers don’t cry, especially not in public. With a quick inhale he shuffled over to the ship as fast as his peg leg would allow. He decided to go around the ship as best he could to access the deck, which only proved challenging when he tried climbing the junk pile and tried to keep his balance on uneven footing with his aforementioned peg leg. Fortunately he was well-practiced in climbing and balancing while using such a simple prosthesis, so it wasn’t too hard for him to climb onto the bulwark with little more than a stumble. 

The only thing of immediate interest was a giant hole blasted through the deck; apart from that, there wasn’t much else to look at except for several smears of old blood here and there. Gruesome, but Jamison had seen worse. He moved closer to the hole and took a peek inside. It was too dark to definitively say what was and wasn’t in there, but it didn’t look like there was anything in the way to “soften” his landing. Jamison grinned greedily and carefully grabbed onto the gnarled metal sides of the hole, then eased himself down into the ship. 

Jamison squinted into the darkness; the room appeared barren, which was disappointing, and the ship’s angle was really throwing him off as he located the door, which was effectively on its side rather than in its customary upright position. Still, Jamison would not be deterred. Who knew how long until other scrappers would descend upon this treasure trove? As he grabbed onto the door frame, Jamison noted that the entrance had a swinging door, and the position of the ship had turned the door into a short “slide” of sorts as gravity forced it to rest just inches above the former-wall-now-floor. He hoped it wouldn’t cause him too much trouble if he wound up needing to leave the way he came in.

“Roight.” Jamison said aloud, to himself, as he scratched at his left temple with his flesh hand. “Down to business.” 

The initial disappointment Jamison was met with in the galley had been made up for twofold as he climbed and crawled his way through the ship, finding a large amount of gunpowder, several tools, medical supplies, some old weapons… He was almost thinking of moving in. This was pretty much as close to a jackpot as most scrappers would ever get. Jamison knew better, though. No way he’d be able to keep this ship to himself, not for long. Every scrapper within a ten mile radius was gonna want a piece of this thing. Best to just find all the choice pieces he could carry and be off. 

He’d been poking around in what looked like the crew’s quarters when he’d found it.

Wrapped in an old dark shirt and shoved into a hole that had been cut into a mattress was some… thing. A spherical thing. Jamison held it up close to his face to get a better look at it in the darkness; it was smooth and coppery in color, and it had several button mechanisms around it in a pattern he didn’t immediately recognize. He wasn’t sure what the hell it was other than maybe some kind of puzzle game or maybe a fancy paperweight. Humming loudly, Jamison decided to press a few of the buttons. Nothing happened. Furrowing his bushy brows, Jamison tried pushing more buttons. Still nothing.

“C’mon you stupid piece of-” Jamison was saying through gritted teeth as he began mashing as many buttons as he could, and suddenly it made a computerized noise. Jamison stopped mid-sentence in surprise, then grinned wickedly at it. Finally he was getting somewhere!

Jamison continued mashing at buttons until it made the noise again. He gave the object a shake next to his ear to see if he could hear anything rattling inside, but he heard nothing. Holding it in his prosthetic hand, Jamison scratched at the side of his head. He pressed a few more buttons and the object made the computerized noise a third time, but now also lit up with a bright green light. Before Jamison could react, the bright green light shot out from the object in a thick smoke-like shape and up to the ceiling, illuminating the entire room with its eerie light. The light spun around in a circular motion on the ceiling as a huge grid formed in the room, then spots of white-green light appeared in rapid succession until the light on the ceiling was no more and all that remained was a holographic map of what looked like the entire universe.

Mouth agape, Jamison slowly turned around in place to look at all the little holographic images of the planets, stars, and galaxies. As a boy he’d wished to sail across the universe in a grand spaceship, and for several years he’d closely examined all the maps he could get his hands on. He knew all the names of the planets by heart, even now. The dream of becoming a sailor had died within Jamison a long time ago, or so he’d thought, but seeing this holographic map made the desire bubble up again somewhere within his chest. He took a few steps forward as he scanned the map, quickly firing off the names of planets in his head, when his eyes fell on a planet up in a corner of the room that he didn’t immediately recognize. It was settled out in the furthest reaches of the universe and unlike the other planets, this one had a blue tint to it, along with two intersecting rings. Squinting, Jamison was sure he’d seen this planet before. 

A light went off in his head.

“You’ve gotta be shittin’ me,” he said, taking one tentative step closer to the projection. He’d seen this planet. He knew this planet. Fuck’s sake, who _didn’t_? Ever since he was a little boy he knew about the story of Treasure Planet and the legend of Captain Sombra. But much like everyone else, he thought it was all just a legend. A story. Made up.

He needed to hide this. Study it properly, to make sure it was real. Oh, the stories they’d tell if he were to find Treasure Planet! And all of that beautiful treasure - the treasure of a thousand worlds - just sitting there, waiting for him to take it… The thought made him drool. He shook his head and wiped the drool away with the back of his flesh hand; he had to get the thing out of here first, then he could daydream about treasure. He fiddled with the sphere’s buttons, and after trying a few different sequences it made the computerized noise once more before plunging Jamison into pure darkness as it turned off. Jamison wrapped the sphere back up with the dark fabric he’d found it in, then shoved it to the bottom of his bag. 

As he made his way back through the ship, Jamison was already making a mental checklist of things he would need and things to do for the voyage. Most importantly he’d need a ship and crew, and he knew just where to look.


	2. A Man in Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Nice to make your acquaintance! I’m Jamison, Jamison Fawkes.” the man said, giving Mako a friendly slap on the shoulder. Mako choked on his beer, not expecting it. There was an awkward silence between the two men as Jamison seemed to realize that that was a poor move on his part.

The Twisty Spigot is the seediest bar on Met-91. They say all the worst cutthroats and low-lives hang around that bar, and if you’re smart, you avoid the Spigot like it’s infested with the plague. In its relatively short history, a few people have been murdered, countless others have had the shit beaten out of them, and there’s been rumors about shady backroom deals going on there. 

For Mako Rutledge, it’s where he goes to pick up jobs and get a half-decent beer. The other patrons of the Spigot know better than to mess with him; he may be pushing fifty, and his long hair may be an entirely silver white color, but Mako is fucking _huge_. Easily two feet taller than the average patron, three times as wide, and all too willing to deck any chucklefuck who annoys him. 

It was no surprise everyone at the bar moved as soon as they saw him come in; in fact, it was expected. Mako took a seat at his usual spot, the stool squeaking under his weight. His hair was pulled back into a high ponytail and he wore his usual outfit; a black vest with the sleeves ripped off, dark grey pants, and black boots. He’d given up trying to find a shirt that fit years ago, and his vest could barely fit around the sides of his gut, so he just let it all hang out.

Mako was taking a large swig of his beer when he felt someone sit down beside him, on his left. 

“G’day!” the stranger chirped, his voice reedy. “You Mako Rutledge? The captain of _When Pigs Fly_?”

Mako couldn’t even fully process the question before the stranger kept talking.

“Some blokes said a bloke by the name of Mako Rutledge has a ship and he’s willing to work for the right price! Said Mako is the biggest fucker here, and you’re the biggest fucker I’ve seen yet!”

Mako set down his mug and looked at the stranger, unable to conceal his bewilderment. 

The man beside him is a skinny creature, almost emaciated. The dirty black tank top he wears hangs from his frame, giving Mako a glimpse at the ribs that poke out from his side. His blonde hair is unkempt and seems to stick out in all directions. He looks to be covered from head to toe in a fine layer of dirt and grime, but that pales in comparison to the stench of B.O. emanating from him. His appearance clearly identifies him as a scrapper.

Great.

“Yeah. I’m Mako.” Mako replied simply, returning to his beer and mentally rolling his eyes. He hated it when scrappers decided to waste his time. Maybe he’d find the guys that sent this little cretin his way and show them his “gratitude.”

“Nice to make your acquaintance! I’m Jamison, Jamison Fawkes.” the man said, giving Mako a friendly slap on the shoulder. Mako choked on his beer, not expecting it. There was an awkward silence between the two men as Jamison seemed to realize that that was a poor move on his part.

“Uh… Anyways, I’m in the market for a ship, ‘n maybe a crew for a little… _adventure_.” Jamison said as he wiggled his eyebrows, decidedly glossing over the situation with the slap.

Mako snorted and took a big swig of his beer, nearly draining the glass. He set it back down and said nothing.

“It, uh, would pay well.” Jamison offered, rubbing at the back of his head awkwardly.

Mako snorted again. “Where is it?”

Jamison lit up. “The Haldaron galaxy!” he said, beaming.

Mako burst out laughing, surprising Jamison and scaring nearby patrons. He couldn’t help himself; he held his belly and laughed for nearly a full minute. He turned to face Jamison once he was able to compose himself, wiping at his left eye with his index finger, still giggling and grinning. “What could you possibly be going all the way out _there_ for?”

Jamison glared at him and had been the entire time Mako laughed. He was silent for a few moments before he got to his feet; he was much taller than Mako would have guessed, but still about a head shorter than himself. 

“I can’t tell you here.” Jamison, voice low so only Mako could hear. “C’mon.” he tugged at Mako’s elbow with his flesh hand, looking in the direction of the restrooms.

Mako snorted as he stood and allowed himself to be guided by Jamison. He wasn’t unfamiliar with being fed ridiculous stories that always led to him being lured to the restrooms for a fuck, and he expected this to be no different. Really he should’ve made Jamison work on it a little harder before giving up his cock, but he was feeling a little generous tonight. Besides, the wiry scrapper is fairly good looking in his own way. 

Jamison locked the door once he and Mako were in the bathroom. He then pulled his messenger bag from around his shoulder and set it carefully on the floor before removing his tank top as well. Puzzlingly, he then laid it up against the bottom of the door.

“Can’t let anyone else see.” he said when he looked up at Mako and saw his raised eyebrow. He then proceeded to squat down and started rummaging through his messenger bag. He pulled out a large copper ball-looking thing and held it up proudly for Mako to see. Mako raised his eyebrow further and Jamison scoffed. He stood upright again and began pressing barely visible buttons.

“What are you-” Mako began, but Jamison shushed him.

“You’ll see.”

Jamison pressed the buttons until the ball made a robotic noise, then pressed the buttons again until it made a second robotic noise. He flipped the light switch before pressing the buttons a third time, and again the ball made a robotic noise before it lit up with an eerie green light.

Mako stepped back, mouth agape, as some kind of green smoke shot out of the ball and up to the ceiling. 

“What is this?” he asked breathlessly, watching as the smoke turned into a grid.

“It’s a map, I’m pretty sure.” Jamison replied, moving to stand closer to Mako. “‘N I think it’s a map that leads right to Treasure Planet.”

Mako looked at Jamison like he’d grown a second head. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m tellin’ ya, it _has_ to be!” Jamison cried as he threw his arms in the air. 

Little balls of white-green light were appearing around the two of them. Mako recognized many of them, being a sailor and all. 

“I triple checked all my maps, and this thing’s the real deal as far as I can see.” Jamison said after several minutes of silence. “So… will ya help me?”

Mako mulled over the question. Part of him said that this was a fool’s errand, Treasure Planet doesn’t exist. But another part of him wanted to believe. And all of that treasure? The legendary loot of a thousand worlds? If he had even a fraction of that, he’d never have to work again.

“Deal.” he finally said.

Jamison gave him a huge grin and stuck out his hand. “Put ‘er there, partner.”

Mako took Jamison's hand and gave it a firm shake, nearly sending Jamison off his feet.

 

\--

 

Jamison looked up at _When Pigs Fly_ with complete awe, his mouth open and his eyes the size of saucers. The sight amused Mako; he had no idea whether or not the other man had ever seen a ship before, or if it was just he’d never seen one that was still working and in one piece, but the expression on his face was enough to make one side of Mako’s mouth curl up in a small smirk. 

The Pig, as Mako referred to it, was indeed a sight to behold. It was built to mimic the appearance of a clipper, with the capacity to transport relatively large amounts of cargo and sail quickly. The body of the ship was sleek and painted black, save for the pink figurehead of a full-bodied pig with small cloud-like wings at its shoulders on the bow. Like a real clipper, it also had three masts and several white sails.

Mako watched as Jamison skittered up the gangplank and up onto the deck, and shook his head, still smirking.

“That him?” a deep voice behind Mako asked.

Mako didn’t bother to look back at Gabriel, his eyes still fixed on Jamison - at least what he could still see of him, anyway. “Yup.”

Gabriel moved to stand beside Mako, holding a sack of his belongings over his shoulder. He was ten years older than Mako, and his head was just barely even with the top of his shoulder. He was Mako’s first mate. “You’re really sure the map’s real?”

“Has to be. There’s no way a scrapper could make something like that, especially him.” Mako replied.

“I still can’t believe you’re bringing one of _them_ on the ship.” Gabriel said with a sneer. “How long do we have to put up with him?”

“He’s the only one who knows how to decode the map’s puzzle. We need him, for now.”

“And when we don’t?”

“We’ll kill him.”


End file.
